


Sand

by Vera



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universes, First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:52:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How can people be so sure of the boundary between land and sea that they have the confidence to build houses on it? The white doorsteps of the ocean travel and travel." Helen Garner, Postcards from Surfers</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sand

## Sand

#### by Vera

  
  
Written around 1998 but not posted to the archive until now. Inspired by a conversation on the Senad mailing list.   
The working title was 'Beach Blanket Blair', a title that couldn't be more misleading if it told you night was day.   
This story is a sequel to: 

* * *

"How can people be so sure of the boundary between land and sea that they have the confidence to build houses on it? The white doorsteps of the ocean travel and travel." Helen Garner, Postcards from Surfers. 

* * *

Sunlight gleamed off the Monza convertible's red duco and danced along the chrome. 

Blair was driving aimlessly. The only place he could go was back and he wasn't ready to do that yet. The old car responded to his touch like a lover. Like a lover should, anyway. He loved the feel of the engine growling behind him, the way it pushed into corners and leapt out of them. He let acceleration press him back against the leather seat. Neat suburbs faded behind him and he followed the highway along the coast. 

Soon he'd left the crowded beaches and beachside homes behind as well. He drove past the lonely sea and small groups of surfers. Not many. Like his mood, the sea seemed grey and restless today. 

Eventually driving stopped being enough of an escape. It wasn't physical enough. It wasn't soothing him. He pulled up alongside a deserted beach and got out. 

The sea lured him. It was vast and he yearned to lose himself in its endless change. 

His first few steps onto sand filled his shoes with grit. Cursing, he pulled off the expensive lace-ups and the soft wool socks, opened the trunk and tossed them inside. He almost threw his jacket after them, but prudence made him keep it. He felt rattled enough to stay out till after dark. There was no point in being cold, as well as angry. He set off down the beach, northwards. Away from his Monza, away from the city, towards signs that said 'Dangerous Undertow". 

The sea got rougher as he walked along. Seagulls flew over, checking out his potential as a snack bar. He saw a few houses, but they had that end-of-summer emptiness. He wished he could pour it all out and become as empty as those houses, as empty as the sky and the sea with about as much responsibility. He didn't understand how he'd got to this point. How everything that had seemed so bright with potential could go so wrong. 

None of it helped the mess he was in now. 

Tomorrow he had to front his board of directors and explain his decision. He didn't know what to tell them. He felt betrayal all around him. If only his mother hadn't rung that morning and tried to tell him he placed too much emphasis on material things. The old argument. He briefly considered getting her to address the shareholders. It was a weak joke, but it made him feel a little better. 

He stopped when he saw a lone surfer far out on the water. As he watched, the surfer turned to look behind himself, poised on the flimsy board atop the great sea. With a grace and freedom that Blair yearned for, the surfer rose against the sky and sailed down and across the curving wave. He was tall and broad and well made. He tamed the sea and made it his own. Then Blair lost sight of him in the breakers. That lonesome surfer, tall and gold against the blue sky and the bluer sea, stood for everything he wasn't: free, relaxed, unfettered by responsibility. Blair stared out to sea, wishing he could have some of that freedom for himself. 

He kicked the sand as he walked along, leaving little damp heaps for the sea to wash away. He headed up the beach to avoid some boats. Movement attracted his attention. There was a god in front of him and a board on the sand at his feet. Broad shouldered, deep-chested, the god was peeling off the top of his wet suit and stretching under a beach shower. Blair watched muscles ripple as the guy stripped down to his speedos. Everything else he'd been thinking, all his convoluted problems had drained away like the water running off the surfer god's body. 

Before he could look away, pretend he hadn't been staring, wipe the hungry look from his face the god turned around and looked back at him. He was older, but then some days it seemed everyone was older. A face as strong as the body. There was recognition, acceptance and an answering fire in his cool, blue eyes. 

"You're not dressed for the beach." 

"No, I'm not." Blair agreed, not hesitating at all. "Do you know anywhere I can change? I don't want to leave my suit lying on the sand." 

The god said, "Sure, come with me." 

It was that easy. If only business could be transacted as easily as pleasure. 

The surfer gathered up his towel, wetsuit and board and headed off up the beach with easy strides, leaving Blair to follow. 

It was a small house, with a small patio facing the sea. They walked straight into a hall that led to an L-shaped kitchen/dining area. The god disappeared behind a bench. The detritus of summer leaned against the walls: a boogie board, a single flipper and a snorkle, a pair of faded, ragged sneakers. Posters and flyers covered the pinboard. Blair gathered intelligence: Save the Beach campaign, Safety First Swim Class schedule, a notice about a petition to have sharps disposals placed in beachside toilets, a co-op roster, a folk festival flyer, a utilities bill in the name James Ellison. His mother would approve of this guy. He was a responsible free spirit, but a free spirit just the same. Then again, his mother had approved of the contract. His smile faded. 

"Anything more you need to know? " 

Blair jumped at the voice beside him. He was so edgy today. He'd been on edge for months. 

"No, nothing more." Blair reached up to run his hands over sun-warmed skin but the god handed him a glass of orange juice. 

"You must be hot and thirsty, walking in all those clothes." 

"Yes... " 

"Call me Jim." 

"Blair. I'm Blair." 

The tall, beautiful, half naked man, Jim, looked at him solemnly, waiting for him to finish his drink. 

Eyes never leaving Jim's face, Blair drank the whole glass and handed it back. 

"Hello, Blair," Jim said, putting the glass on the bench top and undoing Blair's tie. His hands were deft, Blair felt his clothes dissolve away, though they seemed to end up neatly folded on the bench. He stood still and allowed Jim to undress him, though he wanted more than anything to feel that skin, to peel off those tight speedos, to reveal the treasure underneath, to act rather than be acted upon. He wondered why he was doing this and then he wondered how he was naked without moving. So was Jim. Then there was no more wondering. There was hot, smooth skin and fierce kisses. There were strong, long fingered hands on his ass, pulling him close. 

"Come with me," Jim said, stepping back and holding out his hand. 

"I certainly hope so," Blair smiled. 

The broad grin transformed Jim's face. 

He took Blair's hand and led him, naked, through the house. The bedroom was as neat as the rest of it. Jim turned away from him and folded the cover of the bed back. He turned around again and stood looking Blair up and down, taking in the line of thigh and hip, the dark hair curling from groin to throat, the sweet, hard cock moving as he breathed. 

Blair stepped close, put his hand up to Jim's chest and pushed him down on the bed. Jim leaned back on his hands grinning up at Blair with wicked invitation. He slid off the bed to his knees. Blair touched his head with both hands, felt the short hair under his fingers and palms. He shifted his hips and rubbed the head of his cock over Jim's lips, nudging forward, holding Jim's head still. 

Jim let his mouth fall open around the head; his tongue flickered against it. Blair caught his lower lip with his teeth and began to push his cock in and out of Jim's mouth, shivering as Jim's lips rubbed over the edge of his glans. Jim's tongue played at the hole. It was exquisite and it was torture. He trembled with the desire to push hard into Jim's mouth; saw approval in Jim's eyes. He groaned and tightened his hold on Jim's skull, pressed forward, feeling Jim shift to accommodate him. Slowly, he pulled out, the wet skin of his shaft tingled as Jim breathed out. He sighed and did it again, thrust deep into Jim's mouth. Jim's tongue chased his head on retreat and wrapped around him on the advance. He felt a growl rumble in Jim's throat, Jim's hands came up to stroke the backs of his thighs. His rhythm quickened. It felt amazingly good, holding that strong face between his hands, watching his cock slide past Jim's lips. Momentum gathered in his balls and just as he was thinking, 'Yes, now, yes' implacable hands gripped him and held him still. 

"Please! Don't stop." 

"Not yet." 

Jim let go of him and drew away, sitting back on the bed. He balanced on one arm and brought his other hand up to rub at his pecs. 

"Is that all you want?" he asked, running his fingers over his belly and down to the dark hair curled around his cock. 

"God, no," Blair breathed, and climbed aboard, straddling his lap. Jim smelled cool, he tasted like the sea, his strength was irresistible. Blair felt the undertow sweep him along. Strong hands held him. Long fingers pulled at his nipples and probed at his ass. Jim switched from rough to tender and back without sharp transition. 

The pre-ejaculate and saliva-slick tip of Blair's cock slid along Jim's skin. Jim's eyes glazed and his nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. 

Suddenly Blair was on his back with a foil packet in his hands and Jim was unscrewing a small jar, stormy eyed and breathing hard. "Put it on me," he demanded. 

Dizzy with the speed of it all, Blair tore the packet open. It was barely on before Jim had a slick finger against his ass. It slipped inside him and he drew his knees up. "Just do it. Just do it, Jim. Come on." 

Jim growled. Literally growled, and then he was thrusting hard and Blair was full of him. 

Dangerous undertow, Blair thought, as he fisted his cock, revelling in it. Just before he came, before falling apart and reforming, he felt something close to peace. 

* * *

He lay awake, watching Jim sleep and looking around the bedroom, comparing it to his house and the houses of his friends and colleagues - full of the kind of sterility created by professional cleaning. Jim's house had lived-in neatness, an extension of his well cared for body into his environment. He wore his space as part of himself and Blair found it comfortable and comforting. There was a quiet certainty about Jim that was a balm. This was what his mother meant by the inner calm she searched for in all the strange places of the world. Here it was, on a beach outside of Cascade. Maybe he should invest some money and get Jim to start a retreat. Naomi and her whacky friends would love this. They'd love Jim. The image made him smile. Jim surrounded by a flock of brightly coloured, fringed, jewelled seekers after truth and inner peace. 

He wondered why Jim appeared to trust him. He'd never invite a stranger home and then fall asleep afterwards. He couldn't wait to get them out the door once the good bit was over. He didn't 'do' breakfast. He wondered if sleeping was Jim's way of dismissing him. Maybe he should just go? Speaking of going... 

He got out of bed and headed for the most obvious place for the bathroom. No -- that would be a walk in wardrobe. Shirts, jeans and pants hung in neat organised rows. At one end there was a dark grey suit covered in a dry cleaner's plastic bag and next to it, in a similar bag -- Blair walked closer -- was an Army dress uniform. Blair touched it, to make sure it was real. 

"Surprised?" 

He spun around so fast he nearly fell, windmilling his arms and disturbing the clothes. 

"I thought it was the bathroom. I really need to take a leak. I don't suppose you have one of them around here? You are so silent, man. You don't make any noise, you scared the life out of me." 

His babbling washed up against Jim like the tide on a rock with about as much apparent effect. Jim looked unamused. Blair took a deep breath. 

"You're in the Army?" 

"Used to be," Jim answered. He cocked his head, "bathroom's this way." 

Blair told himself to shut up and just go. The last place he needed to be was in a lonely beach house with a pissed off ex-Army guy. Not everyone loved the guy they'd just fucked. The classically macho types were most prone to homophobic violence and denial. But Jim hadn't given off any violent vibes. Blair felt, strangely, safe around the guy. He felt as though they had a connection that went beyond some hot, sweaty afternoon sex. He shook his head. He'd been talking to Naomi too much recently. 

Jim led him out of the bedroom and down the short hall. He opened a door. Inside was incontrovertibly a bathroom. Blair brushed against the silent and naked man as he entered. "Thanks," he said, closing the door in Jim's face. 

Jim was leaning against the wall waiting for him, when Blair emerged. 

"I should --" he began. 

Jim reached out and touched his shoulder. "Go back to bed, "he said and went into the bathroom. A little apprehensive, but not wanting to leave this soothing place just yet, Blair did. 

He sat in Jim's bed, arms resting on his bent knees and wondered why he was still here. The sex, the mind-blowingly good sex, was over. He should go. 

Jim returned, tall and buff and gorgeous, and got back into bed, lying crossways at Blair's feet. Lazily he started stroking his half hard cock. 

"So," he asked, "do you feel rested and refreshed?" 

"Yeah, pretty relaxed. All of me," he emphasised "is relaxed." 

"I guess," Jim lay back and arched into his own hand, clearly enjoying what he was doing for himself, "you'll just have to watch." 

Blair, delighting in the game, propped a couple of pillows behind him, blue and yellow pillows like the sand and the sea, and shifted around till he was satisfied. 

"Comfy?" Jim asked with eyebrow raised. 

"Go on with the show," Blair grinned, with a flourish of his hand. Jim's skin looked soft and dry, he must have washed up in the bathroom. 'Thank god,' Blair thought, glad to have found a pickup as fastidious as himself, but it was only what he was coming to expect from this guy. The man was burnished to a high shine. He was all hard planes and warm curves. Blair licked his lips as he watched the increasing pace of Jim's hand on his cock. 

"Look at me," Jim demanded, huskily. 

"I am looking at you," Blair said, but raised his gaze to Jim's face, meeting his eyes, a ring of blue around dilated pupils. "You're fantastic, I could watch you all day. Well, actually," Blair's deep voice was throaty with laughter and desire, "I couldn't watch you all day. Sooner or later I'd have to jump your bones and fuck you into next week." 

Blair moved forward, closer to Jim, whose breath was hard and sharp. Blair touched his shoulder feeling the muscles bunch and flex. "You're so strong," he said, stroking the smooth skin under his fingers, "so strong and sexy, I want to fuck you, I want to hold you down and feel you beneath me and my cock deep in you." He locked eyes with Jim and his fingers tightened their grip. Jim's gaze was mesmerising, Blair was falling into it and he felt Jim's hand still. 

"Man, you are so hot. Let me fuck you? I want -- Jim?" Blair touched his cheek. His eyes were glazed and his lips parted and he appeared to be in a trance. "Jim?" Blair patted his cheek and pushed down the panic. "Hey! Wakey, wakey, hot stuff." He ran a finger along Jim's lower lip. "Jim, man you are wild. Does this happen often? You aren't supposed to pass out until afterwards. Hey, I'm ready to go another round. Come back and join the party. Jim? Jim, wake up. Don't stroke out on me, man!" 

Just as his panic was edging out of his control, Jim came to with a loud gasp, grasping Blair's wrists and shaking. 

"Jim?" 

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I just --" 

"Completely zoned on me. Do you do that a lot? I've never had anyone pass out on me before. Not before the fireworks, anyway. I'm not sure whether to be pleased or what." Blair paused."Do you want to let go of me now?" 

Jim released his tight hold on Blair's wrists and covered his eyes with his forearm. Blair watched him lie there, while his own cock couldn't decide if it was still interested or not. Jim breathed and his impressive chest expanded, muscles flexing and tensing all the way down to his groin. Blair's cock signalled that it was still interested. 

"Why were you out cruising empty beaches?" Jim asked suddenly. "You couldn't have expected to find anyone." 

Blair decided to overlook the clumsy change of subject. Jim's problems were Jim's problems and it wasn't like they were friends or anything close. He had a different sort of being close on his agenda. 

"I wasn't cruising. Well, not until I saw you." Blair grinned. "You were serendipity. I was just taking a vacation from my life, you know, running away from it all." 

"Lucky me. Right place, right time." Jim sat up and stroked Blair's chest. 

"Lucky me," Blair said running his hand down the well muscled arm touching him. 

"That too," Jim smiled, not one jot embarrassed by his vanity. He curled his fingers in Blair's chest hair. "What do you do?" 

"I'm running away, remember?" 

Jim traced hair up Blair's chest, wet his lips as he reached the hairless skin of Blair's shoulder, slipped his fingers behind Blair's neck and pulled him close. 

"Where would you like to run to?" he asked softly against Blair's lips. 

"Not very far," Blair's fingers closed around Jim's cock and it hardened in his hand. Briefly, Blair hoped that he could command the kind of stamina this absolute god had, when he was the same age. Then he forgot refractory considerations and found himself in the maelstrom once more. 

Jim was kissing his neck, stroking his chest and then fitting the condom to Blair's penis. "Back or front?" he whispered in Blair's ear. "Back," said Blair in a voice full of wonder and lust, "Lie on your back." 

Jim's eyes widened as Blair pushed in. The big man took a deep breath and let it out slowly as Blair thrust deeper. 

Blair meant to start slowly, but found himself pounding away. He wanted to drive Jim into the mattress, wanted to mark him so no other could touch him. Jim was encouraging him, holding his own legs back, murmuring "Yes" and "Harder" and "Blair, Blair, Blair". He felt his brain was caught in a whirlwind powered by his hips. It was too frantic to last and he slowed his mad ride. He bent his head to rest on Jim's chest. "I need to stop a second. Man, this is intense." He couldn't believe how intense. Jim's hand was on the back of his neck, rubbing the tense muscles. "It's ok, baby," he was whispering, "take your time. I could stay like this forever. You feel so good, so good." 

Jim's soft words went straight to his groin, spurring him back into action. It was as though he'd been fucking forever and was never going to stop. Veins corded his forearms; Jim traced them with his finger tips. "I can feel your heartbeat, inside me and here, in your arms." 

It was too much and not enough, Jim's hands running up his arms and over his back, his cock in Jim's ass, the feel of him, sweaty and salty and hot. He raised his head and demanded, "Make yourself come. I want to feel it." 

Jim moaned and the bed rocked beneath them as he arched his back, ejaculate splashing his taut abs. Blair let go the breath he'd been holding as Jim came and ran his fingers through the thick semen on Jim's belly. He quivered on the edge of orgasm, thrusting slow and deep. 

"Blair," Jim placed his hands against Blair's chest, palms against the nipples. "Do it. Come for me. Let me see you." Blair never thought to see anything that moved him so much, as Jim talking soft and sexy, lying beneath him. He wanted to stop time so he was always poised in this perfect place, between passion and satisfaction, soaring high into the sky, surfing cleanly across an endless wave. Then he thrust into Jim one more time and he was coming, the wave was crashing around him and he was caught in the undertow and dragged into the deep blue sea. 

* * *

Blair lay on his back, where he'd rolled off Jim, totally limp. 

"Man, you are the man. I may never recover. There's nothing stiff left in my body. I think I might just die right here." 

Jim stretched and sat up, reaching out to run a his hand through Blair's hair and rub his scalp. He leaned over Blair and kissed him. It was warm and sweet and Blair almost felt his cock try to rally. He had just decided he really liked kissing Jim and was going to spend the rest of his life doing it, when Jim stopped. 

"Coffee?" he asked, getting out of the bed. 

"Ask me again in half an hour." 

Jim opened a drawer. "Do you want a shower?" he asked, pulling on a pair of sweat pants. 

Blair, contrary to his claims of utter lassitude, bounced out of bed and followed him out to the kitchen. "No, thanks, I have to trek back to the Monza and a shower will just put me to sleep." He didn't want to explain the urge to stay marked by Jim's sweat and kisses. It was not like his usual fastidious nature. It unsettled him. 

"Oh no, don't tell me you've got --" 

"A 1966 Corvair Monza convertible, one of the finest and most innovative cars ever made," he interrupted. 

"I thought a guy like you would drive a BMW or a Porsche," Jim kidded, half serious, as he filled the coffee machine. 

"Really, soldier boy, how unpatriotic do you think I am?" 

Jim looked over the long tangled hair, the designer suit in Blair's hands, the bare feet. "Now that you ask..." 

Blair roared with laughter. "You kill me, man. I probably have a higher security clearance than you ever did." Bending to pull on his pants, he didn't notice a brief shadow on Jim's expression. 

"Probably," Jim said. 

There was short silence, filled with the rocket launch sound of the coffee maker. 

"What about you? What do you do here?" Blair asked as he finished dressing. 

"I look after the beach, I look after the people who use it." He looked at Blair sidelong while he poured the coffee and grinned. "I pick up lost puppies, bring them home and take care of them." He ran his fingers through Blair's hair. Raised eyebrows told him what Blair thought of that analogy. 

"So, why did you leave?" 

"Leave where?" 

"Why did you leave the army?" 

"My time was up." Jim looked away from Blair and into some painful memory. After a moment he shook it off. He smiled and ran his hand through Blair's hair again. 

"This doesn't go with the suit." 

"You don't read GQ, do you?" 

Jim snickered. "Is it that obvious?" 

"Yeah. But I expect you have better things to do with your time," Blair shared a smile with him. "Speaking of time. I better get going." He finished his coffee, looked around for his shoes and remembered they were in the car. "Well, thanks," he said, for once not sure how to end it cleanly and politely and turned to leave. 

"Blair," Jim called just as he reached the door. 

He turned round. Jim was standing in the short hall, by the kitchen bench, half-naked, beautiful. 

"You know where to find me, Chief?" he said softly. 

Blair blinked. Did he want to know? A hot lust in his belly and a softer emotion he didn't want to define joined forces to convince him. 

"Yeah, Jim. I do. So I do." He felt himself smiling like a fool, like someone who's found secret treasure. 

"Do you have to go?" 

"I have to go. I really do have to go." 

"Bye, then." 

Blair wanted to run back across the room and wrap his arms around Jim and never let go. He wanted to go back to Jim's bed and fuck off the rest of the world, his business, his troubles, his shareholders, his damned board of directors. 

Design was simple. Implementation was a bastard. Wasn't that true in everything? Habit made him turn the door handle, habit made him walk out the door. Hope made him say, "see you," instead of goodbye. 

End. 

* * *

End 

Sand by Vera: copracat@yahoo.com  
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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